Page:Fugitive Poetry 1600-1878.djvu/98

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Meditation.
Tell me, ye viewless Spirits of the Air,Who steal upon the soul with silent wing,Seeming to wake, as with its breath, a stringThat yields deep melody all hidden there,Tell me if ye are visions from the tomb,Or dreams awaked by Fancy's wizard call,Or ministers of ill, released from thrall,In robes of light, to tempt us to our doom.Or messengers of peace from regions blest,On mercy's errand, stooping from above,Or friends departed, drawn by lingering loveTo whisper weal or warning to the breast?Ye have no voice to answer, but the eyeDoth trace your homeward pathway to the sky!
Retirement.
I love to steal awhile away From every cumbering care,And spend the hours of setting day In humble, grateful prayer.
I love in solitude to shed The penitential tear,And all His promises to plead, Where none but God can hear.
I love to think on mercies past, And future good implore,And all my sighs and sorrows cast On Him whom I adore.
I love by Faith to take a view Of brighter scenes in heaven;Such prospects oft my strength renew, While here by tempests driven.
Thus, when life's toilsome day is o'er, May its departing rayBe calm as this impressive hour, And lead to endless day.
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